The Places We Stay
by WhateverYouWant1
Summary: Dean has died enough times to know when it's over. And here, with Cain, it's over. So when Dean wakes up again after being stabbed in the chest, he's surprised to find no trace of any wounds...and a twenty-three-year-old Sam standing over him in the hospital. Something has gone terribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

It isn't supposed to happen this way.

Then again, supposed to is such a fragile word.

But here Dean is, smashed against the floor under Cain, bloody and bruised and aching. And Cain's words are echoing in his mind. Taunting him. Reminding him of the monster he will become.

"_First, you'd kill Crowley. There'd be some strange, mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason. You'd get it done, no remorse. And then you'd kill the angel – Castiel. Now, that one ... that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me..._"

Dean knows who Cain is talking about before he even says the name. Of course Dean knows. He's been trying to save Sam since they were kids. Since his dad warned him that if he couldn't save him, he would have to kill him. But the words are different now. The meaning is different. If Dean can't save himself, he'll have to kill Sam.

Yes, it's all very different now.

It's not news to Dean, but it still hurts. Still bothers him to hear the words out loud. His heart is pounding so loud he can feel it in his head. He sees the knife tucked into Cain's waistband. Eyes it for only a moment, trying not to give himself away. He needs it. It's his only chance.

Cain raises the First Blade above him. Dean reaches for the second blade quickly, but his fingers fall through empty space, making his stomach drop the way he does when he's going up the stairs and thinks there's another step when there's not, and his foot falls through the air and collides against the ground with a thickening thud.

He's done something wrong. Underestimated the distance. Overestimated the difference. Something. He doesn't know. It doesn't matter now, because the blade he needs isn't in his hand, and the one he doesn't need is diving into his chest.

White hot pain erupts. He's felt this before, but that doesn't lessen the blow. He chokes on his breath. Chokes on the liquid filling his lungs. His ears are ringing and his body is vibrating.

For a moment, he feels only the pain. It's his entire existence. His entire life. And then...he feels nothing. Nothing at all. And he is floating, far away. Cain's face dances in his vision.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all.

Dean's eyes lose focus. He has died enough times to know what it feels like. To know when it's over.

And it's over.

He sees Sam. Ten-year-old Sam. The Sam who ran to him when he was happy, slept in the same bed with him when he had nightmares, snapped at him with the same sarcastic remarks that Dean specializes in now. He remembers the time they went to the fair and Sam was still too short to ride the roller coaster, because before Sam was too tall for his own good, he was a scrawny little kid who was small for his age. Sam had grown upset and glared at the ride attendant, and Dean thought maybe he would curse him or threaten him, but instead he walked away and won himself a toy gun at one of the booths. He broke the toy guy later, telling Dean is was stupid and so was the fair.

By the time Sam was tall enough to ride the roller coaster, he didn't want to anymore. That was the year he started to hate Halloween, and the year he started to hate Dean. At least, that's the way it felt to Dean. Sam was always arguing with John, and turned on Dean whenever the older boy would try to take the side of his father. Sam didn't want this life. Didn't want any part of it. Dean understood.

He hoped to make it up to him one Halloween, but he hadn't learned yet that Sam found Halloween insulting. Wasn't amused with the people who dressed up as the monsters who tried to kill him every day. And when Dean suggested they go trick-or-treating for the first time, Sam looked ready to punch him. Or cry. Sam looked like he wanted to cry a lot back then.

Dean wants to say he tried. Wants to say he tried with everything he had to make Sam stay. But he didn't. He thought he did, once, back when Sam first ran away to go to college. But now he knows. Now he understands.

"Dean!"

Someone shakes him. Hard. Hands that are firm and tough. Hands that belong to his brother.

"Dean, stay with me. Cas! Castiel, where are you?"

The corners of Dean's lips turn up in a smile. He grabs hold of Sam's wrist, forcing his little brother's attention back on him. Sam is here. Real Sam. The one who ran away, but never really left him. No, just left the life they lead. But never Dean. Never Dean.

"Sa-" He chokes again, coughing. Sam's eyebrows furrow together. Tears fill his eyes.

"You're okay, Dean," he says. "You're okay."

But Dean isn't okay, and he's died enough times to know that. He knows.

"Sam," he whispers. "Sammy."

It isn't supposed to happen this way. But here he is, wrapped up in his brother's arms, feeling numb but satisfied that maybe this is all finally over. That maybe none of this will matter anymore. Not the Mark of Cain. Not the demon inside him. Not anything.

He thinks maybe now he can give Sam the life he wanted. A life away from danger and monsters. A life where he's tall enough to ride the roller coasters and actually cares. A life where he doesn't look like he wants to cry all the time.

He's crying now, though. The last tears. The last tears Dean will ever see. The last ones he wants to see.

And with his last breath, Dean says Sam's name one more time and hopes it will be enough.

XxX

Pain shoots through his chest, electrocuting him. His senses comes back to him all at once, and he realizes he's choking, drowning, unable to breathe. He wonders if he's back in Hell. Being tortured again. Being ripped apart. Made to suffer.

Someone calls his name and then yells for help. Hands touch his arms, push him down firmly but gently. Not like someone in Hell would do. He almost recognizes those hands. But he's still choking. Still feels something blocking his airway, somewhere deep in his throat.

"Dean, we need you to calm down," a voice is saying. Dean can't calm down, and he doesn't know why someone is suggesting he to do so.

There's a scraping in his throat, a sharp pain, and then everything opens up. He can breathe again. He can breathe.

He melts into a fit of coughs. Someone has a hand on his back. Dean isn't sure when he sat up, but he knows he did, and he knows something isn't right. He can't make sense of everything. His brain is foggy and disorientated.

A cup is pushed into his palm and a familiar voice tells him to drink. Dean does so without thinking.

"You're okay, Dean," the voice says. It sounds relieved. Close to tears. "You're okay."

Dean realizes it's Sam, and he dreads for a moment that Castiel brought him back to life. That Castiel didn't keep him dead when that's all he wanted. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Dean wants to stay dead. Wants to be free from the curse, from the Mark, from everything. It isn't fair.

"We need you to step outside."

"But-"

"We need to check over him. We have to assess the damage. We'll call you back when we're finished."

There's a resigned sigh. Sam again. "Fine. But please..."

"I know, Sam."

Dean's vision finally starts to clear. He's in a hospital room, connected to tubes and machines and things that make noise whenever he moves. If Cas brought him back, he wouldn't need to be here. Something is wrong. He's alive, for starters.

"Dean, can you hear me?"

He nods. A man in a white coat is in front of him, shining a light into his eyes. God, he wishes he would stop. He's not blind.

"My name is Doctor Ryland. You're in the hospital."

The fogginess in his head starts to clear, giving way to frustration."What happened? Why am I alive?"

"That's a good question, Dean. Looks like someone up there is on your side," the doctor says. "We need to take you in for some x-rays, okay?"

"X-rays for what?" Dean snaps. The only thing that hurts is his head and his throat, and Dean knows that's not right.

_Shit_.

"Sam– "

"Your brother is outside. We'll bring him in once we're done."

But that's not Dean's concern. He thought, after all these years, that Sam would be smarter than that. Smart enough not to sell his soul to a demon to bring Dean back. How could Castiel let this happen? How could _Crowley_ let this happen?

"God damn it," he mutters.

XxX

Dean doesn't see Sam in the hallway when they take him to the x-ray or when they bring him back. Everyone is looking at him funny. And they all look faintly familiar to Dean. Their faces. Their expressions. Maybe Dean has been hurt too many times. So many times that everyone's concerns blend together into one person.

The doctor stands by Dean's bed and shakes his head.

"I can't explain it. The edema has vanished. The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good.  
You got to have some kind of angel watching over you."

Dean rolls his eyes. Watching over? Yeah, right. "I guess it takes more than being stabbed to kill me."

"Stabbed?" The doctor flips through his charts, frowning. "Dean, you weren't stabbed. You were in a car accident with your brother and your father."

Dean feels like someone ripped the world out from under his feet.

"My father is dead," he says shortly. "I think you have the wrong chart."

"Your father John is alive. He's in a room down the hall. You, John, and Sam were all brought in via helicopter after your car was struck by a semi. You _are _Dean, aren't you?"

"A semi?" Dean asks. What the hell? This isn't right at all.

"I think I need to order another scan of your head. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?" The doctor flashes another light into his eyes. "Follow my light."

Dean pushes his hand away, feeling annoyed and confused. "I need Sam. Where is Sam?"

Because Sam will know what's going on. Maybe Sam had to lie to the doctors. Had to tell them a different story to make everything seem plausible. Probably picked the accident from years ago because he knows all the details. He was the one driving, after all. Was the only one conscious through everything.

"Sam is in the waiting room. I'll have a nurse fetch him. We're gonna do another scan of your head. Hang tight while I get that scheduled."

Dean lets the doctor leave without protest. There's nothing wrong with his head.

He sighs and scratches absentmindedly at his arm, glancing down at the familiar sight of the Mark. Only it's not there. Nothing is there. Only smooth skin and no trace of anything else.

Did Cas do it? Did he fix him? Heal him? Get rid of the curse?

"Hey, Dean," a voice says. Sam.

Dean looks up at him. Has to blink a few times. Feels the color and life drain from his body. That's Sam, all right, but it isn't _his _Sam. This is the Sam that ran away from home. The Sam that hates Halloween and roller coasters. The Sam from, what – eight, nine years ago now? Twenty-two-year-old Sam.

And Dean suddenly realizes what's wrong here.

"Son of a bitch."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! Thanks for all the reviews and favorites and follows! I was a bit worried about this story, but I'm glad people are interested so far.**

**Hope you guys still like it!**

**:)**

* * *

Dean snatches the bedpan off the table next to him and looks into it. He's not the same, either. He hasn't changed as drastically as Sam, sure, but his face is thinner and younger and he's definitely not the age he was when he died.

He lets out a chain of swear words.

"What happened?" he asks. "Why are we here?"

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder like he's trying to steady him. "We got hit in the Impala. Do you remember anything about the reaper? About being outside your body?"

"What're you talking about?" But right as the words leave Dean's mouth, he remembers Tessa. The reaper. He remembers the first time he met her, which was here, was just a little while ago probably. And he had somehow been outside his body, traveling through the hospital and watching people die. He was like that girl in that fluffy stupid book Sam liked because it was "unique" and "cool." Dean told him it was for teenage girls, but Sam didn't seem to care.

"No, I remember," he says quickly. "I mean what're we doing back here? Why did we get sent to this time? And where's Cas?"

"Who is Cas?" Sam asks. He looks at Dean like he's afraid his brother is losing his mind.

Dean's heart sinks in his chest. This is the real Sam from this time. This isn't his Sam sent back with him. This Sam knows nothing about Hell or demon blood or angels or the Mark of Cain. This Sam is nearly innocent.

"Oh shit," he mutters. He looks around the room and up at the ceiling for any sign of a crumpled Castiel somewhere. "Cas, where are you, man? Is this one of your life lessons or something? I'm really not in the mood."

Sam's mouth forms into words he can't find. Right as he starts to sputter, there's a gust of a wind and the faint sound of wings clapping together. Sam spins around quickly, taking a defensive stand in front of Dean, and Dean, amused as he is that Sam is at the age where he would do something like that, pushes him aside as he sits up.

"Chill, Sam. He's a friend. Where the hell have you been?" he asks. Castiel tilts his head and examines Sam with curiosity.

"I've been trying to find you," he says. "He is small."

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, well, he's like twenty-two. Did you do this?"

"This is not my work. I've been trying to figure out who is responsible, but I can't get in contact with any of the others. There's some kind of block here."

"What's going on?" Sam demands. Dean glances at him. Almost wants to smile. He remembers this Sam. High, raw voice that hasn't been strained and knocked down an octave. Passion in his bones. Hot-headed. Still carrying the faint belief that maybe one day things will be okay. Everything he was before their dad...

"Shit!" Dean scrambles from the bed. His bare feet touch down on the cool tile. Castiel grabs his shoulders.

"What is it?" he asks.

"My dad," Dean says. "You have to stop him. This is the day he–"

Castiel's eyebrows turn down, his face solemn. He knows. Dean can see it. "It is already done, Dean. We were sent back right after the deal was made. There's nothing I can do."

Dean explodes. "What do you mean there's _nothing you can do_?! Use your grace and bring him back like you did for me and Sam! Don't you have your grace here? Come on!"

"It is not that easy," Castiel says. "I had a team of angels with me when I raised you. Getting to Sam's soul was nearly impossible when he was in the cage. I'm not in the right time. I cannot call upon my brothers and sisters to help me. And we can't change what's going to happen in the future."

"I'm already dead," Dean snaps. "Who cares what happens?"

"_You _might be, but Sam is not. Regardless, that isn't the case. It will happen anyway."

Dean sits back on the bed. Covers his hands with his face and falls apart. This isn't fair. This isn't fair at all.

"Damn it," he says. "I can't live all this again, Cas. I could barely live it the first time."

"I need to figure out why we were sent here. It is one thing for you to come back to this time, but I have never been here. Not physically, at least. Not in this vessel."

"Yeah, you didn't show up till the first round of Hell."

"I was there before that," Castiel says, throwing the comment aside as he looks at Sam again. "You are different. You are pure."

"Cas, don't," Dean hisses. "This isn't our Sam."

Castiel frowns. "This is the Sam from this time? Interesting. But why send just the two of us back?"

"Okay," Sam interrupts, his face tight, arms crossed over his chest. "Someone tell me what's going on. Dean, who is this? What's happening? What do you mean your dead? And what about Hell and my soul?"

It's Castiel who answers him first. "I am Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord."

"You're a what?"

"It's true, Sammy," Dean says. "Yeah, he's a real angel. Yeah, I'm sure. Yeah, I know you're impressed to be standing in front of him. The bottom line is something strange is happening here. Cas and I...we aren't..."

"We're not from this time," Castiel says. Dean groans.

"Well don't sugar coat it, Cas."

"Does he not deserve to know?"

"Of course he does, but maybe try to ea–"

"Dean?" a deep voice asks.

A silence falls over everyone. Sam and Castiel turn toward the door, blocking Dean's vision. But Dean doesn't need to see to know who it is. After all these years, he would recognize that voice anywhere.

"What's going on here? Who are you?"

No one seems to move. Dean rises to his feet again, feeling light and numb. He pushes Sam gently aside and steps forward.

"Dad?" he whispers.

His dad smiles at him. The smile of a dying a man. The smile of a dead man.

The smiles disappears quickly, though, because as much as he looks like he's happy to see Dean alive and standing, he's a hunter and he's tense. He looks at Castiel again.

"Who is this?" he asks.

Dean shakes his head. "A friend of mine. I'll explain later."

But there might not be a later, and Dean realizes that a second too late. He closes the distance between them and pulls his dad into a hug. He doesn't care if it's weird for this version of himself. Or any version of himself.

"Something isn't right," Castiel says.

Dean pulls away from his dad to look back at him. "What?"

"You didn't do it," he says, but he's not talking to Dean. He's talking to John. "You tried. I know you did. I've seen it before. But I would know if there was a demon here, and there is not. Not anymore. Your soul is intact."

Dean turns to his dad again. His head is pounding and he feels like he might drop at any moment. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is right. He should be dead.

"You didn't make the deal?" he asks.

"How do you know about that?" John demands, eyes flashing to Castiel again. "And who the hell are you?"

"His name is Cas, and he's...uh, well..."

"I'm an angel of the Lord," Castiel says.

"Well, he used to be," Dean mutters. "Not his finest hour, really. But Cas powered through."

John looks at him for a long moment. "You're _Castiel_? The angel?"

"I am."

"Well, I'll be damned." He shakes his head and lets out a huff of a laugh.

"You are not damned yet," Castiel says. "Was the deal not completed?"

"_What deal_?" Sam asks. He sounds incredibly small. Dean had forgotten for a moment that he was still there. Young Sam had a way of disappearing in situations he didn't want to be in. Sinking into walls and shadows and slipping out of back doors. But Dean remembers the teary-eyed look all too well. The one he's currently wearing – fighting really – but Dean can't blame him.

"Someone please just tell me what's going on."

"Sammy," Dean starts. His head gives a painful throb, making him stumble. Arms reach out to catch him before he hits the ground. He's not sure whose arms. His dad's. His brother's. They both seem so foreign and familiar to him at the same time. Strong. Loving. Reminding him of a life he used to have.

He sinks to his knees with those arms cushioning him on the way down. He can't see. The pain is blinding him, making him ill. He clutches at his head.

"Dean, talk to me. What's going on?"

"It would be in Dean's best interest if both of you step aside," Castiel says. And Dean's not sure how Castiel gets either of his stubborn family members away from him, but the next thing he knows, two fingers are pressing against his forehead and everything goes black.

XxXxX

He wakes to the sound of voices around him. For a moment, he only hears Castiel, and he thinks maybe everything was a dream and he's back in real time after Cain stabbed him. But then he hears his dad's voice mixed into the equation, and he keeps his eyes closed for a minute to listen.

"2015?" Sam asks. "How is that possible?"

"It's not the first time it has happened," Castiel says.

"He's been sent through time before?"

"You both have. Back in time and into alternate universes. Time is fluid and very hard to bend, but we are sometimes able to do it. It takes a lot of energy, though. A lot of power."

"I haven't dealt much with angels," John chimes in quietly. "But I'm gonna guess they aren't what I think they are."

Sam sighs, long and deep. "Is anything what we think it is? This whole world is crazy."

"I guess that's why we do what we do."

"Sure it is."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means the only person saving people here for the sake of saving them is Dean. You're out for revenge. That's all you've ever been out for."

This time Dean sighs, short and impatient. He forgot about this Sam. Rebellious Sam. Sam who was always arguing with their dad. Arguing since he could string sentences together. Sam has never wanted this life. That's why he ran and didn't look back.

Dean opens his eyes and spies the trio standing close to the foot of his bed.

"Okay, enough," he says, sitting up with a groan. "Enough."

Sam steps closer to him. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty fucking miserable is how I feel. All things considered."

Sam bites his lip and looks down at the ground. Dean frowns.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam says. "Just...I...I have so many questions about what happens...in the future...to us. To me. I don't really...know you. I mean, this version of you. It's just really strange."

Dean glances at Castiel, who gives a small shake of the head. Dean wants nothing more than to warn Sam about what's going to happen. Warn him that soon he's gonna die, and if Dean can stop Sam from doing what he's going to do, get to him maybe a minute sooner, he can save himself, too. He wants to tell him not to trust Ruby, not to drink the demon blood, not to kill Lilith, not to go through the trials. He wants to tell him everything.

But instead, he scrubs his face and says, "Can we get out of here?"

"I don't know if you're well enough, son," John says.

Castiel steps past him, gently pushing Sam aside. He presses two fingers against Dean's forehead. "I have healed his wounds. He is fine now."

"Yeah, thanks for making me pass out," Dean mutters.

"You're welcome."

He rolls his eyes.

Sam and Castiel leave first, setting off in pairs to hide the illusion of them sneaking out of the hospital. Dean waits until they are gone, until his dad is helping him find shoes to wear because his were torn off somewhere in the wreck, before he asks the question he's dying to know.

"What happened with the yellow-eyed demon?"

John sighs. "He said he'd take the deal. Said he would come back for my soul, but your angel friend says he isn't here. I don't know what happened. Maybe he got scared off."

Dean watches him carefully. "You know it's not that easy."

"Of course I do. But I'll take the time I can get."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asks. "Why would you sell your soul to save me?"

"Wouldn't you do the same?"

The question leaves him silent. He _did_ do the same. Sold his soul to bring Sam back. He understands it. Mostly. But he also feels a strange kind of hatred toward his dad for keeping him alive when he didn't want to be. Or _doesn't_ want to be. Maybe he liked life back then. He can't remember now.

"I missed you, dad," he says, and it sounds so strange coming out of his mouth. But his dad smiles and claps his shoulder.

"I missed you, too, Dean. Now come on. Let's get out of here."

For the first time in a long time, Dean smiles a real, heart-felt smile. If things are already different, he might be able to pull this off. His dad is alive. Sam is okay. There's no mark, no curse, no desire to kill and never stop. No Cain. Not in his life, anyway. Dean thinks maybe he _can_ stop everything that's going to happen. Maybe he was sent back in time to make a difference. To give Sam the life he always wanted. To make his dad happy.

Castiel has a different opinion. "Dean, I told you time is fluid. Every road leads to the same fate. Something may have gone different here, but that doesn't mean the outcome will be different."

"How can you say that?" Dean asks. He watches Sam and John walk in front of him, both of them muttering under their breath to each other, probably talking about Dean. But Dean doesn't care. Because they're both alive. And they're both okay.

"There are greater things going on here," Castiel says. "Unless we are in an alternate universe, you cannot change the end result. Everything will end where it was when you left, no matter how it happens."

"Well, what makes you think we're in the same universe? I mean, look at my dad. He's alive, isn't he?"

"Yes, but that–"

"Dad, look out!" Sam shouts. There's the sudden noise of tires screeching, someone yelling too far away to understand, the thud of something hitting the ground way too hard, and when Dean looks up again all he can see is the car that ran the red light and has its front wheels on the sidewalk, smoke pouring out from under the hood.

There's no Sam.

There's no John.


End file.
